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So this is it. The final run-in for my giveaway in partnership with author Sharn Hutton to promote her debut comedy-thriller It’s Killing Jerry. The fantastic prize includes a copy of the book, personally dedicated to the winner by Sharn, a “little blue dude” bookmark and 100g Lindt chocolate bunny all in a nice Spring-themed gift bag. If you haven’t entered yet, and live in the UK, you can click here to enter and be in with a chance to win! The competition closes at midnight UK time on Friday 31st March 2017. The winner will be announced alongside my review of It’s Killing Jerry on the 3rd of April 2017.

In the meantime, here is the third and final excerpt I have to share with you. I hope you enjoy!

Jerry’s lungs burned, but he battled on. Side by side at Solomon’s Gym in the village, he and Adam occupied the first two of a bank of twelve running machines that lined up parallel to the windows. Adam’s feet struck the whirring treadmill to the rhythm of the music gushing overhead. Jerry fought for enough oxygen to fuel one foot in front of the other.

From this first floor vantage point, he could see shopkeepers pulling down their shutters across the street and locking up for the night. Even though Solomon’s windows didn’t open, he was sure he could pick up the aroma of fried chicken rising from the shop below. His stomach growled.

Adam pounded on, chatting away with hardly a bead of sweat on his brow. To Jerry, he didn’t look like someone who’d been chained to a desk for the last six years. He was all lean muscle and bouncing hair.

“Screw Dinky. He’s a worm,” Adam was saying.

“Dinky, yeah, I’d forgotten you called him that.”

“School nicknames get a lot worse. If he hadn’t made such a fuss about it, it wouldn’t have stuck.” He paused for reflection. “I may have helped it to stick. I don’t remember, it was a long time ago.” Adam grinned.

“Yeah, right,” Jerry puffed out, stabbing at the treadmill controls to slow it to more of a manageable pace and then rolling to a stop. “Easy for you to say, anyway—the worm’s not your boss.” He staggered off the machine and bent to lean heavily on his thighs. Sweat dripped from his forehead to the thin blue carpet. Adam stepped off his own machine and stood by Jerry’s side.

“Yeah, must have been really shit being a top defence lawyer, earning bucketfuls of cash every time you walked into a room.” Jerry slumped against the exercise bike behind him. “I don’t understand why you’re giving it up, you loony.”

Adam cocked a scathing eyebrow and Jerry climbed onto the bike without enthusiasm.

“Four years at uni, Jerry; three more as a subservient dogsbody; another ten climbing the stinking ladder, just to get there—just to get to BSL. All that time and effort.” Adam shook his head, straddled his own bike and stood on the pedals. He pumped his feet to the relentless beat.

Jerry could see: Adam had sold his soul to BSL. His talent for getting off villains had earned him an invincible reputation and pay cheques that convinced him what he was doing was right. Of course he was in demand. Eighteen-hour days hadn’t been unusual and with the money pouring in it was crazy to stop, wasn’t it? Six years went by in a flash. Until McGinty: the nasty piece of work that tipped the balance. Now Adam was out for good.

Leaning on the handlebars, Jerry rested his forehead on his arm, chest heaving only slightly less. “Pathetic.” Adam jabbed without turning around. “Get your legs moving.” Jerry groaned and forced the pedals around without lifting his head. “I’m not sure if this is a good way to rekindle our friendship. You ignore me for years, completely disappearing out of my life. Then pop up all Buzz Lightyear and try to give me a heart attack.” Adam turned and scowled. “Buzz Lightyear?”

“Yeah, you know: saving the universe from evil; all biceps and bounce. It’s exhausting, even before you drag me to the gym.”

Adam snorted and went back to pedalling.

Jerry knew he was not a natural where exercise was concerned, but since passing the landmark of forty, his own mortality was bothering him. Telling Adam he wanted to get fit for the sake of his new wife and even newer baby had seemed like a good idea at the time.

They’d bumped into each other in the locker room after at least five years of not seeing one another. Lost in the excitement of seeing his old school pal, Jerry had admitted he was struggling to train. He was unaware that Adam had just left the job that ‘sucked the life from him’ and now had endless spare time in which to berate him for his flabby gut, jelly arse and bingo wings. A mistake. He should have remembered Adam was like a dog with a bone. Perhaps if he kept pedalling slowly he’d leave him alone for a bit.

“Free weights now, lard arse. Quick, there are two free spots.”

Oh good.

The gym was packed. The six ’til eight slot was always jammed with office workers squeezing in a flurry of activity before an evening slumped on the sofa. Solomon’s was a popular place. Situated on a smart run of local shops in the village, it occupied the first floor above Michael’s Deli, a barber shop and the ubiquitous Finger Lickin’ Chicken. Locals had made a fuss about the chain opening up there, saying that it spoilt local character, but fellow shopkeepers were glad to see it. Mr Solomon appreciated the symbiotic relationship between their businesses: exercise made you hungry and fast food made you fat.

Adam threw his towel down next to the mirror and motioned for Jerry to join him.

Jerry hated the free weights or, more specifically, Jerry hated the posers gathered in front of the mirrors using the free weights. Two free spots meant six others occupied by musclebound narcissists, flexing and grunting, posing for their peers and ogling their neighbours.

Adam held out two 10kg dumbbells for Jerry to take, then swiped a couple of 20’s for himself.

“Nnnngh. Nnngh. Yeah.” The beefcake in a tight cut-off leotard next to Jerry strained at his weights. Jerry swallowed back a little bile and turned his back on the mirror. “Think I’ll sit on the bench.”

“Healthy body, healthy mind, Jerry.”

“Don’t let me stop you. I know you want to get match fit for saving the world and everything.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make the world a better place. God knows, I didn’t improve it keeping so much toxic waste out of prison.” Adam switched to work on his left arm.

“What I’m going to do, I don’t know, but for now, I’m all yours.” Adam stretched his arms wide to Jerry and gave him the benefit of his winning smile. Jerry shook his head, took up a weight and started a set.

“Hey, what you need is a little imagination. You don’t have to run around knocking yourself out. Take me, for example. Boring job, spend my days pumping up the hype for people to buy shite they don’t really need and my evenings trying to avoid dirty nappies.”

“You’re not selling it to me, Jerry.”

“I’m not finished. I may lead a humdrum life but, with a bit of imagination, I can turn it into something exciting. Earlier on, for instance, making up a baby bottle to keep the love of my life happy. Boring stuff? But no!” He wagged a finger at Adam’s increasingly incredulous expression, “Not if you put a bit of imagination into it. Plastic bottle? No. Bomb case grade titanium canister. Milk formula? No. Hydro bomb primer.”

“What?”

“Never mind. The point is that I am no longer Jerry: career-stunted, shit beleaguered new father, I am Remi: sports-car-driving secret agent sex god. You see? It’s all about what you make it.”

Adam’s face scrunched. “Nah, I need a change. I can’t just pretend that the last six years didn’t happen. There are consequences, Jerry. I have to make amends.”

“Live out your dreams in your imagination—you can achieve anything!”

“Still not real.” Adam shook his head and turned back to the mirror, checking the angle of his arm.

“Look, OK, you’ve got me. You can’t pretend to go to work and earn pretend money because obviously the pretend food at the pretend supermarket isn’t all that filling. But it’s something to keep you going. Remi lives it up in my imagination: goes on adventures; total babe magnet; lives the life.” Jerry’s cheeks were starting to burn.

“And what’s he doing now?” Adam enquired with creeping sarcasm.

“Acapulco. On a mission for MI5.”

“And you think I’m a loony.”

“Look, it’s just a little light relief, OK? Something else to think about through a nappy change or a dull meeting. Remi gets to do all the stuff that I don’t. It’s all the excitement I get these days.” Jerry plonked his weights down onto the rack. “I’m going for a shower.”

With my giveaway for Sharn Hutton’s comedy thriller It’s Killing Jerry well underway now, I thought I would give you all another taster in case you still need persuasion to enter! Having read the book myself, I can attest to how good it is, and that it makes for a fantastic read.

But don’t take my word for it – enjoy this second little excerpt straight from the book, and if you haven’t yet entered the giveaway, click here to get in on the action. It’s easy to enter, just carry out any or all of the entry options on the Rafflecopter page in the link! I hope you enjoy this excerpt, and come back later in the week for more!

Mama twisted the tissue in her hands. “Poor Maria! Her husband cut down in the prime of life. Poof! One minute he was painting the house then, wham! Broken back, fracture skull.” She dabbed at her eyes.

Sitting in the corner of the Cavalli sofa that Isabell liked for herself, Mama had been recounting family stories since mid-afternoon. Papa, who’d heard it all before, had escaped for an evening walk, but Isabell was trapped. She prowled back and forth in front of the empty open fireplace, gripping at her upper arms.

“All the family come to the hospital, but they could no save him. Poor Sal. So sad.” She made a hearty blow into the tissue. “Now she has to look after those children all alone.” She peered at Isabell over her glasses. “At least she has the children.”

Isabell turned her back and stooped to plump a cushion. Not this again. “Mama.”

“Hmm. Well, the family have pick her up and taken her to the heart. Sancho has finish the paint. It never look so good! And Alba picks the children up from school while Maria is at work.” She paused to peer at Isabell again. “Ibbie, why you no have a job? If you help to make the good home maybe Papa and I can have our grandchildren. Hmm?”

For once, Isabell was thankful to hear the backfiring Fiat bucking up the drive and stalked over to the window. It gave her an excuse to change the topic. “Jerry’s home at last.” Isabell scowled at her watch: 9:30. It was about time.

Jerry bounded into the house, scraping his gym bag along the two-hundred-pound-a-roll wallpaper before tossing it to the floor at the foot of the stairs. Isabell bit her tongue and scampered over to peck him on the cheek: the dutiful wife.

Jerry slapped her on the arse. “Evening, darling! Had a good day?” Isabell wobbled backward. What the hell did he think he was doing? He pushed past her toward the kitchen. “Chuck that in the wash, would you? Any dinner? I’m starving.”

Isabell stood, jaw flapping, for a moment before catching her mother’s eye, who was shooing her after her husband. Isabell hoiked up a smile and scuttled into the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.

“Back from a hard day at the office,” Jerry bellowed as Mama appeared in the doorway. Isabell felt her presence and switched on the goddess.

“Chicken salad OK?” she simpered. Jerry flopped into a seat at the table and shoved Isabell’s flower arrangement backward, away from the middle. He knew it would annoy her.“Again? Oh all right, if that’s all you’ve got.”

He’d pay for that later. The Domestic Goddess routine was all very well, but Isabell only had a few dishes that she could make. With Mama peering over her shoulder all the time it was difficult to pass ready-made stuff off as her own. Jerry was going to ruin things if he carried on like this. She rummaged around in the fridge, cursing under her breath.

“I say to Ibbie, why she no get a job.” Mama sat down opposite Jerry at the polished oak table. Isabell seethed behind the fridge door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Jerry’s undoubtedly smug expression.

“A job? Yes, that’s a marvellous idea, darling.”

“Great. I look tomorrow.” Isabell cut the comment dead and tossed a selection of salad and a half-eaten chicken carcass onto the pale stone counter. She snatched a knife from the block and hacked at its flesh.

“I’ve got a business trip coming up, darling, so you can lay off the gourmet menus for a few days.” Jerry snorted a laugh at Mama then went on to examine his fingernails. A business trip? A likely story. It was just another excuse not to play ball.

“Really? Oh?” She scowled at Jerry just long enough for him to see, but not Mama. “Where are you going?” Let’s see what he can come up with.

“Las Vegas Convention Centre. TEKCOM. It’s a huge event. Locksley’s trusting me to represent the firm.” Jerry buffed his nails on his trousers and gave her a grin.

“Is that right? Well that is news. How long will you be away?” Little shit. He wasn’t keeping to his side of the bargain here at all. How could he pretend to be her doting husband if he was out of the country? She spun the knife’s point on the work surface, drawing a thin squeal from the stone.

“Oh well, the exhibition is on for five days and I’ll need a couple of days either end for travel and recovery.”

“Travel and recovery,” she echoed through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, so about ten days.”

Isabell annihilated the salad and threw a heap onto his plate followed by the hacked chicken. She clonked the plate down onto the table in front of him. Jerry wolfed it down, made a big show of stretching and yawning and after saying how terribly tired he was from all his hard work, sauntered off ‘to bed’.

Isabell heard the Fiat backfire on the corner, but Mama didn’t seem to notice.

“No worry about it,” Mama said at last, “Is just a business trip. He works to make the good home.”

“Yes, yes.” Isabell wasn’t sure how to play it. Was she pleased that her husband worked so hard, or upset that he was going abroad while her parents were visiting? Jerry was irritating her so much it was clouding her judgement.

“You are lucky. He’ll be back. Think of your cousin Maria. Her husband will never come home again.”

That might not be so bad. Distinctly appealing, in fact.

“You know, Ibbie, life can take you on many different paths. A good choice here…” Mama waved her hand, “A bad choice there… Fate will have its way. Think of Cousin Angelina.” Isabell winced, God forbid she got her fate.

“She thought she was the modern woman asking for divorce. A bad choice. Where did it get her? Ostracise from family that’s where. No-one want to know her. Flouting God’s law! Selfish whore!” Mama crossed herself, got up from the table, ambled to the kettle and switched it on, calm again. “Is strange. You think of Maria and Angelina. Both single women now and how different their lives have turn out. The family can no do enough for Maria. Fate. I’m telling you.”

Isabell wiped the knife clean and slid it back into the block. Didn’t you make your own fate?

Today I am thrilled to bring you the first ever giveaway through Books and Beyond Reviews. Author Sharn Hutton is giving away a fantastic little gift back to one lucky person here on my blog. The winner will receive a personalised, signed copy of her comedy thriller, It’s Killing Jerry, alongside a tasty 100g Lindt gold Easter bunny and a “blue dude” bookmark all packaged up in a nice Spring-themed gift bag:
It’s open to UK residents and I’ll be running the giveaway using Rafflecopter, where you will find a variety of options for you to enter including visiting Sharn’s Facebook page, visiting my Facebook page, following Sharn’s Twitter account, following my twitter account and Tweeting a magical message. You do as many or as few of these as you like to gain entries into the draw for this brilliant prize, just click here.

The competition is open as of now and will run until the 31st of March at midnight UK time. I will announce the winner at the end of my review of It’s Killing Jeremy on the 3rd of April. Now, to whet your appetites for It’s Killing Jeremy, please enjoy this excerpt from the book!

Rachel clung to the wooden banister to stretch across the squeaky step. She wasn’t going to risk disturbing Peanut, not now when she was so close to a few precious minutes of peace.

“No, no, no,” she pleaded, looking to the ceiling. Remembered shrieks of pain or hunger or plain old bad temper scratched at the back of Rachel’s eyes, waiting for their echo. They pulled up short the muscles in her chest and plugged her throat.

“No more, please.” She pressed her forehead against the door and waited. Ten seconds passed without event. Twenty. Thirty. She dared to breathe and moved away.

The kettle clicked and popped the water at its base and Rachel settled her bones at the kitchen table. Envelopes fanned in a toppled stack, all addressed to Jerry and unopened. Rachel slid the uppermost toward her and worried at its corner. Something from the council. Why didn’t Jerry open them?

She tugged at her waistband and lamented the flesh still clinging to her stomach though the baby was long out. When would it ever go? The kettle rattled on, bubbles tapping at the sides. She stretched out both arms across the table top and lowered her cheek to the cool smooth pine, just to close her eyes for a moment and then she’d make some tea.

The train was longer than she’d realised. A narrow corridor that stretched on into infinity and curved away to places unseen. It rocked in a gentle rhythm that matched her stride.

Clickerty-clack, clickerty-clack.

She strode on, relaxed in its warmth and curious to see where the corridor led. A buffet car perhaps? She felt in her pocket for change, and found instead a handle, smooth and curved. She pulled it free. A long surprising blade glinted in the fluorescent light and a breeze whipped at her hair. It was hers, she’d always known it. Too long and sharp to negotiate back into her pocket, she let the knife hang limply by her side.

The train lurched sideways, clickerty-CLACK and she had to raise her other hand to steady herself. Her palm pressed into the grubby wall, sticky fibres squelching up between her fingers. Rachel snatched her hand away, revolted.

Clickerty-CLACK, it rocked hard again, but Rachel kept her feet, moving faster now, breaking into a run to find the end. Cold air rushed down the corridor toward her. Missing windows left great yawning holes, thick darkness outside.

Clickerty-CLACK. There at the end, a door, at last. She grabbed the handle and yanked it up. The door fell away and she found herself so very high that sweat prickled on the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands.

Clickerty-CLACK. A lurch too big to hold on and she was lost, falling, the knife gripped firm in her right hand. A noise too loud and her face pressed hard against the ground.

“Rach? You asleep?”

She lifted her head, clammy flesh peeling from the table top.

“Anything to eat? I’m starved.”

Jerry. Sleep hung heavily at Rachel’s shoulders and she blinked away its mist. Her hands were balled into fists that ached with tension. She uncurled stiff fingers and rubbed at nail marks pressed into her palms. The knife.

“Something in the fridge,” she managed and Jerry turned his back on her to dig noisily through its shelves.

“What time is it?”

“Just gone midnight.”

So late. What was she doing here? Her back complained as she tried to sit up. “You’ve just got in?”

“Well, duh.”

He’d been with Isabell all this time. “Why have you been so long?”

“Well you know Isabell.” Jerry shifted from foot to foot and ran his fingers through his hair. He pulled a selection of things from the fridge to construct a sandwich. Rachel knew Isabell much more than she wanted to.

“So what did she want?”

“Nothing a handyman couldn’t have fixed,” Jerry mumbled through a mouthful of cheese.

“Well that’s what you are, Jerry, hmm? A handy man.”

Jerry shrugged, but kept his back to Rachel. “Her gate got whipped back by the wind and came unhinged.”

“How appropriate.”

Jerry snorted at that.

“And this puts her life in peril, does it?”

“Hey, I never said that, but you know how she is.” Jerry took a brief look over his shoulder at Rachel. She couldn’t summon up a scowl and just gazed back with empty eyes.

“Looks like I might be in more danger,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.

“Mmm.”

Bloody woman. Was Jerry not aware of all the things that needed fixing around their own house? She felt her heart beat harder in her chest and with it came the energy of exasperation. The balance here was off.

“Since when do you do DIY? Lots of life-endangering inadequacies here to fix, you know.” She rose from the table and paced the room to point things out.

“The piece of skirting by the door that continually falls over and snags at your socks; the plumbing that hammers throughout the house every bloody time you use the tap; the holes in the wall where the cookbook shelf used to be; the sodding flap in the vinyl that catches on the back door every time you open it and the draught excluder that’s still in the damn pack.” Rachel waved the box at him with a flourish.

Jerry took a large bite from his sandwich, gaze fixed on her the whole time.

“Ugh. Why do I bother?” She squeezed closed her eyes and leaned back on the kitchen counter. She and Jerry side by side but disconnected, neither looking at the other. She drew in a breath to bolster her: there was something that had to be said.

“The thing is, Jerry, I’m struggling here. Everything’s so… unstable. Peanut, well, I never know where I am with her.” Her throat clenched and she had to pause, not wanting to cry.

“I’ve got no control of anything anymore. When I was working, it was different. There were goals to achieve, you know?”

“Oh sure,” Jerry interrupted, “You knew where you were. How to achieve results.”

“Right.”

“Get that commission.”

“Well no, not really that. I didn’t earn commission. I mean, I was someone. A real person.” Rachel stared down at the floor through a forming film of tears.

“Now I just feel like I’m fading away.”

Jerry munched beside her. “Go back to work then. Get a job.”

Rachel shook her head. “I’m so tired, Jerry. I couldn’t do it.”

It was all she could do to get through the day. The relentless baby timetable ruled her life and there was something more, an elusive element that made it so much worse: hours of crying after feeds that Rachel couldn’t find a way to stop. It ground her down, the first whimper taking her straight back to the end of hours spent trying to sooth, rocking and cooing, gnashing her teeth.

She looked around the room to find a way to escape the subject and settled on the letter stack.

“Jerry, why haven’t you opened those?”

Jerry rubbed at the back of his head and turned away, back to the second half of his sandwich.

“Is there a problem with money? You said it would be OK for me to stop working.”

“Hey, no problem.”

Rachel made her way back to the table and scooped up a handful of envelopes. “This is a problem, isn’t it?”

“It’s OK.” Jerry didn’t turn around.

“We’re not OK, are we? God, I could kill you sometimes!” She slapped at the table.

“At least let me bump up the life insurance first, then you can pay off some debts.”

“So there are debts?”

Jerry rubbed at his face then pushed his shoulders back to stand taller. “No, course not,” he said, and then that laugh, too high and too long.

“Oh, Jerry, you didn’t? You haven’t?” Her suspicions were true. “We’re in the shit, aren’t we?”

“No, no, honestly, it’s fine.” Jerry bustled to the table, a sudden light in his eyes. He scooped the letters from the table and stuffed them into his work bag.

“I’ll deal with them tomorrow. I promise.”

Keep your eyes peeled here on Books and Beyond Reviews during the competition period where you’ll see a few more excerpts for It’s Killing Jerry!